


Hunted/Haunted

by atoafriend



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hunter!Sniper, M/M, Paranormal, Phantom!Spy, actually yeah there's gonna be blood, at this point it is very much a slow burn story, so y'all better buckle up it's gonna be one wild ride, some blood here and there probably, the usual stuff when hunting the paranormal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-09-26 00:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9852956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atoafriend/pseuds/atoafriend
Summary: I am a phantom, cursed to haunt the world of the living.  You are a hunter, hired to kill me by any means necessary.  There is only one way a story like this can play out, and it will only end until one of us is dead.And believe me, hunter: I fully intend for that to be you.Sniper is one of the world's best hunters of the paranormal, brought to a small desert town in New Mexico haunted by a powerful and dangerous phantom known only as the Spy.  The two set off on a dangerous game of supernatural cat and mouse, both trying to kill the other first -- and neither aware of the path of fate they have just set themselves upon.





	1. Encounter

When the mayor first told Sniper about their problem, he nearly laughed at the fact that the town called a hunter all the way to the middle of nowhere for a stupid haunting.  "I don't deal with ghosts, mate, that's a job for exorcists.  I kill actual monsters."  He stood up to leave.

"This isn't just any ghost, sir.  It's...it's a phantom."

Slowly, Sniper sat back down.  His interest was piqued.  "I'm listening."

Phantoms were nasty business.  They could hold a physical form and were thus resistant to most forms of exorcism.  Having a physical form meant command over magic, making them far more powerful and terrifying than ghosts.

But not to Sniper.  A physical form meant something that can be killed.

This one had settled in the small American desert town a few years ago.  No one knew how old it was, but from what the townspeople told Sniper, it must have been around for quite a while: at least fifty years, he guessed.  Something that had been around that long was going to be smart, experienced.  Finding its bones was going to be downright impossible, so he was going to have to kill this thing the hard way.

Finding the thing itself was also going to be hard.  No one had ever really seen it, and anyone who had was instantly killed by it.  It could veil itself from sight and detection from radio waves, and there were even tales of how it could disguise itself as different people to evade capture.  Sniper had never heard anything like it.

Good.  He liked a proper challenge.

That night he drove his van out to the edge of the town and went through his usual routine to set up camp.  He drew a large circle around his van with a saltwater and plaster mixture; then warding sigils with blood drained from wild animals mixed with iron dust, just to be safe.  He checked the batteries and frequency settings of each of his radios before setting them up in spaced intervals within the radius of the salt ring.  Finally, he checked the raw iron cartridges loaded in his hunting rifle.  Satisfied, he settled in for the night, sitting on the open doorway of the back of his van.

He stood up to go to bed when he felt it.  As soon as it came it began to slip away, but Sniper held on to the feeling.

Something was here.

He stood perfectly still, waiting.

And then the feeling was gone.

He closed the door to the van and fell asleep to the silence of the desert broken only by the white noise of the radios.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next night Sniper did the same thing he always did.  Draw the circle, write the sigils, set up the radios, check his gun.  But this time he stood outside, leaning on the side of his van, rifle in hand, and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then he felt it again, that same feeling from the previous night.  It was definitely somewhere nearby.  Slowly, he lifted his hunting rifle to his shoulder.

One of the radios near the edge of the circle stuttered, and then a voice spoke from it.  "You can sense my presence.  There are not many people who can do that."

Sniper stood perfectly still.  Waiting.

"Do you know where I am now?"

His eyes tracked the horizon and then fell on a single spot a few meters outside of the circle.

"You found me.  I'm impressed."

"Don't take much to do so," Sniper muttered.  Talking to ghosts was dangerous, especially one as powerful as a phantom.  But there was very little Sniper had not seen, and even less that he was afraid of.  Phantoms were not on that short list.

Laughter crackled through the radio.  "I admit, it has been a while since I took any hunter seriously.  But you -- I think I might actually have fun with you."

Sniper fired his rifle, but the moment he did he knew his target was gone.  He walked outside the circle and retrieved the iron bullet, knowing fully well that the phantom was much too far away to do anything to him, and went to bed.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

On the third night Sniper only just finished checking his gun when he felt it again.  He slung the gun over his shoulder.  He waited.

Silence.

"I know you're out there," he said.  He followed the feeling until he honed in on the space just a few meters outside of the circle.

A chuckle drifted through the air, but it did not come from any of the radios this time.  "Oh, you're very good.  I don't think I have ever met a hunter as good as you."

"What can I say.  I've a good good instinct for this line of work," Sniper said shortly.

"Instinct?  What you can do, what you are capable of -- it's far from 'instinct,' hunter.  It's _premonition_."  The presence moved slightly towards the circle.  "Tell me, where did someone like you acquire this gift?"

Sniper did not like to dwell on the thought of his "gift."  It was not exactly a physical sensation: no shivers down the back or hairs raised on the back of his neck.  Nor was it the same as feeling like he was being watched.  More like suddenly remembering something he had been told long ago.  A memory almost forgotten, but not quite, not yet.

He had had it for as long as he could remember.  As far back as his infancy, he would start crying randomly for no apparent reason.  Even as a child, he could sense things no one else could:

When something was watching him.

When someone was telling him a lie.

When something bad was about to happen.

It was not until he was a teenager when he realized he should not be able to know such things, that this was abnormal.  As the years passed it began to dawn on him what he had.  He realized that he could sense the presence of the paranormal, even when others could not see them.

Sniper lifted his rifle.  "I didn't 'acquire' it from anywhere," he said shortly, pointing his rifle into the darkness.  "I was born with it."

"Fascinating," the phantom said, its voice carrying through the air.  "I have met people like you before, but it is quite rare to find someone with a sixth sense such as yourself."

Sniper did not respond, just held his rifle with his finger resting on the trigger as he tracked the phantom moving closer and closer to the circle.

A "sixth sense" -- one of many names for what he had.  There was only one kind of profession someone like that could have.

He fired a warning shot at the ground near the line, the bullet lodging itself into the dry earth just outside the circle.  The phantom laughed.  "For someone with such a gift, you're a terrible shot," it mused.

"That's 'cause I wasn't aiming at you, mate," Sniper said calmly.  He paused.  "You know who I am, don't you?  Wanna know why they call me Sniper?"

The presence stopped moving just at the edge of the circle.

He swiftly reloaded the rifle and pointed it straight at the phantom itself.  "I never miss a shot."

And fired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came to me out of nowhere. It's either gonna be really cool or really weird. Both? Probably both.


	2. Silver and Blood

The bullet hit its mark, followed by a ripple in the air like a mirage.  Sniper watched as the mirage took shape, first forming a distinct translucent outline that reflected the dim light of the moon before filling with color and texture to reveal the phantom in its visible form right where it was standing on the salt line.

Corporeal ghosts often still had an eerie, otherworldly quality to them.  Since they constructed their bodies from magic, they would often be missing minor biological elements present in living creatures: usually blood vessels or sublayers of the skin.  It was subtle things like that that often gave them away as ghosts.

But the first thing Sniper noticed about this phantom was how completely human it looked.  It took the form of a slim man with dark hair and sharp features, and was dressed in a dark two-piece suit.  The only indications of its supernatural nature were the glowing markings that covered its face, leaving just the eyes and lower half of its face discernable, and the silvery smoke seeping from where the bullet had pierced through its shoulder.

The phantom idly raised a hand to the injury, but gave no indication that it was bothered by it.  "Hm.  It seems you can hit a target after all," it said nonchalantly, inspecting the bloodless wound.  "However, it's going to take more than iron bullets to stop me."

Sniper did not waste any time.  His rifle already reloaded, he aimed it squarely at the phantom's chest.  But right before he fired, the air around it shimmered and it vanished from sight with a sly grin.

The bullet flew through the air and hit the ground some distance away.  Sniper lowered his rifle.  He could no longer see the phantom, but he could still feel its presence.  It was inside the circle now.  This did not surprise him: he figured that a salt line and sigils would not be enough to stop something as strong as a phantom.

He reloaded his rifle, this time with a lead bullet.  Iron may not harm it, but his first hit on the phantom told him that as long as it made contact with the metal it could not cloak itself.  A stronger, heavier metal might prolong the effect.

The bolt clicked into place and he raised the rifle to his shoulder, waiting for the phantom to make its move.  He was no longer able to discern its location, but he would still be able to sense when it would attack.

There!  In the corner of his vision --

Sniper whipped around, finger resting on the trigger, ready to fire.

Nothing was there.

But he knew what he saw.  It had been brief, but there was no mistaking the mirage-like refraction of the moonlight he had seen.

The thought crossed his mind that the phantom might have been baiting him.  He recalled what the townspeople told him about how the phantom killed its victims, luring them to secluded places, jamming phone and radio signals so they could not call for help, letting the catch brief glimpses of him in the dark.  And then, once their backs were turned…

Before his mind could finish any conscious thought, his body was already turning.  His arms raised the rifle up into the air just in time to block something in the air from hitting him.  As if he had already known what was about to happen next, he lowered the rifle to block another hit to his chest.

This one was stronger than the first one, knocking him backwards.  He collided into the side of his van, but he was not fazed by the blunt force.  Knowing his rifle was of no use now, he let it fall to the ground as he reached behind his back and pulled out his kukri from its holster.  Thinking quickly, he made a guess as to where the phantom was and swung the blade forward.

The silver-lined blade flashed as it slashed through the empty air.  Suddenly he felt a stinging pain as something grazed him on the side of his face.  The reflective glasses he wore fell from his face and clattered on the ground as warm blood began to trickle down the side of his face.

Sniper looked up to see the air in front of him shimmer and ripple as the phantom reappeared, holding a glowing, bloodstained knife in its hand.  He expected it to attack again, but it only stood there, regarding him and the blood on the knife with intrigue.  "Hm, how curious," it mused.  "That was not what I expected to happen."

Whatever it was that the phantom found so interesting, Sniper did not care.  He took the opportunity to stab his kukri forward.  The phantom reacted and twisted its body out of the way -- but not before the blade cut across the side of its waist, leaving a long glowing trail of silver smoke in its wake.

The phantom gasped and stumbled back several paces.  The glowing knife fell from its hand and dissipated upon hitting the ground, leaving behind only the blood that had coated it earlier.  It seemed that silver was more effective against it than iron and could actually cause it to feel pain.

Sniper watched as the phantom gazed at him with cold eyes that seemed to reflect the moonlight.

"You have nerve to stare into the eyes of a ghost, hunter," it said.  "There have been many who have met their demise in doing so."

Sniper did not respond, just watched and waited.

"But you are no ordinary hunter, are you?" the phantom continued.  "You have prepared for this kind of encounter.  I can see now that you are not an opponent to be taken lightly.  However, by now it should be clear to you that I am also not someone to be underestimated.  Now that we both know what the other is capable of, things should be much more interesting."

"What are you getting at?" Sniper said tersely.

The phantom smirked.  "I am a phantom, cursed to haunt the world of the living.  You are a hunter, hired to kill me by any means necessary.  There is only one way a story like this can play out, and it will only end until one of us is dead.

"And believe me, hunter: I fully intend for that to be you."

With a shimmer, the phantom vanished into the night.

"Spook," Sniper muttered, wiping the blood on his face away on the back of his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, this chapter turned out quite nice. I like where all this is going.


	3. Sanctum

Like most small towns in rural America, this one had a church.  They were usually located in the center of town, but for whatever reason this church was located on the edge of town.  Realistically, Sniper knew that hallowed ground could only offer so much protection, but it was still the safest place for anyone to go here.  Especially a hunter.

This church was still being maintained, but as far as Sniper could tell it was all but abandoned.  Half of the windows were boarded up, and the peeling red paint of the sides were covered with faded, crudely painted warding sigils.  It looked more like a converted barn than a church.  He doubted if there was anything remotely "hallowed" about this place to begin with.

He parked the van up front and stepped out of the van, his rifle and holster slung over his shoulder.

When he stepped on the ground he noticed the strange contraptions placed at regular intervals along the perimeter of the church.  He knelt down to inspect one.  It looked similar to the radios he used, except this one had been heavily modified for some other purpose and was covered in all sorts of strange markings.

"Hello, stranger."

Sniper looked up to see a man walking toward him from behind the church.  "You the pastor?" he asked.

"Me?  Heavens no," the man answered, speaking in a slow, easy drawl.  "We haven't had a pastor here in years.  I'm just the groundskeeper."

He was several inches shorter than Sniper and wore a simple collared shirt and grease-stained overalls, steel-toed boots, and a set of safety goggles around his neck.  A thick, worn toolbelt was fastened around his waist.  Sniper noted the array of cast-iron tools and what looked like salt rounds for a shotgun.  This was a man experienced with dealing with the paranormal.

"You must be that hunter the mayor called over to deal with our little ghost problem," the man was saying.

"Yeah," Sniper answered.

"He's a slippery one, that one," the man said.  "Had a few run-ins with him myself.  Never seen anything quite like him."  He nodded at the cut on Sniper's face.  "Looks like he tried to do a number on you."

"Tried to," Sniper said, scratching off some of the blood still crusted to his chin.  "Silver knife seemed to change its mind."

"Silver, huh?  I'll keep that in mind."

Sniper gestured to the device on the ground.  "What are these, exactly?"

"Those?  Those are ghost traps," the man explained.  "Won't do much against the stronger ones, but it'll keep the weak ones in place.  Made them myself."

"You made these?"

"I like to dabble in technology.  You could say it's like a hobby of mine.  Folks in town call me 'the Engineer.'"

"And the markings?"

"Spells."

Sniper raised an eyebrow.  "You don't look the type for magic."

The Engineer laughed.  "I learned some from an old friend of mine.  It's a little fickle, but I figure if I can get math, I can get some basic spellwork."

Sniper looked down at the device, studying the array of obscure runes and symbols.  He had tried to attempt some spells out before, but they never really worked for him.  He figured he just was not cut out for magic.  Not that that was a problem; nothing that a silver knife or an iron bullet could not solve.

"What's your name, stranger?" the Engineer asked, pulling his attention away from the device.

"Sniper," he answered.

The Engineer nodded.  "That'll explain that gun of yours," he said with a chuckle.  "Well, Sniper, there's a washroom, food, and some lodging in the back of the church, you're welcome to use them for the duration of your stay."

"Thanks, mate," Sniper said, and headed into the church.

The interior was slightly better kept than the exterior, but was still shabby at best.  It was clearly not in use as church, with large heavy crates and odd pieces of machinery scattered around the sanctum.  Sniper walked past the dusty pews and the bare pulpit and opened the small rickety door that led to the back room.

Like the sanctum, the back room was lined with crates and what looked like construction manuals.  The windows were all boarded up, the room's only source of light a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.  A sleeping cot had been shoved into the corner, next to which stood a large bookcase filled with thick dusty volumes, which presumably belonged to the pastor back when the church had one.

For a moment, Sniper wondered what happened to the church's pastor.  Then he decided that he did not care.

Setting his rifle down on the cot, Sniper stepped into the small washroom and inspected the cut on his face in the mirror.  It had been deep enough to draw blood, but was otherwise superficial.  Removing his glasses, he turned the tap on the sink and splashed the cool water to his face, washing away the residual blood and dirt.

He took off his holster and hunting vest and pulled off his shirt, tossing them onto the edge of the sink.  Cupping his hands under the tap, he poured the water onto his shoulders, letting it run down his chest and back.  Then he poured some water onto his head, running his fingers through his wet hair.

_What's your name, stranger?_

Hunters did not share their names.  It was the first rule of anyone dealing with the paranormal: never reveal your name to anyone.  He had heard countless stories of hunters who had met their end because they gave their names away.  Names were powerful things, and in the wrong hands could be used against their owners with devastating consequences.

So, as was customary among hunters, he chose a title to be used in place of his real name.  Something to-the-point and easy to remember.

He turned off the tap, blinking drops of water from his eyes, and looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

If he was going to be honest with himself, he rather liked the name.  At this point in his career, he had finished off enough monsters to earn something of a reputation for himself here and there.  It was something he took pride in.

He snapped out of his thoughts when heard footsteps outside the washroom.  His hand was already reaching for the holster when he turned around saw the Engineer standing in the doorway.

"Whoops, didn't mean to startle you," the Engineer said, holding his hands up.

Sniper let out a breath.  "Sneaking up on a hunter ain't the best idea, mate," he said gruffly, setting the holster back down.  "You need something?"

"I was actually gonna ask if you wanted to grab some lunch in town.  I figure you're gonna be staying here for a while, so we might as well get acquainted."

Sniper contemplated the offer.  His line of work was a solitary one.  There just simply were not that many people in the world who understood the paranormal like he did, let alone make a living out of killing monsters.  But every now and then there was an opportunity to talk to someone in the know.  Granted, the Engineer was not a hunter, but he seemed to know enough about the paranormal to construct machines to protect against it.  Hell, he was even able to work spells to some extent.  He could make for some interesting conversation.  Maybe Sniper could even learn a few things from him.

He shrugged.  "Sure, why not?"  He reached for his shirt, then stopped.

Something was wrong.

He looked back up at the Engineer, who gave him a curious look.

This was not right.  Something was not right about all this.

So instead he reached for the holster, his fingers brushing the handle of his kukri.

Before he could react he was thrown back against the sink.  The back of his head collided with the mirror, leaving cracks in the glass.  He could taste the tang of iron pooling in his mouth from the impact and spat it out, splattering blood onto the Engineer standing over him.

Only when he looked up, it was not the Engineer.

He watched as the facade vanished in wisps of silver smoke to be replaced by a glowing mask.

The phantom glanced down at the dark stain on its chest.  "You got blood on my suit," it said in a distasteful tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww shit. Sniper, you done made him mad.
> 
> And now for a cameo from our favorite Texan.
> 
> I was telling a friend about writing this chapter when I realized I wrote a blatant eye candy scene of Sniper splashing water onto himself. It was completely unecessary. But it's already there, so enjoy, I guess.


	4. No Red-Blooded Man

At first the phantom ignored him, its attention focused instead on the spatters of blood on its suit.  "Very strange indeed," it muttered to itself.

Sniper also found himself staring at the stains.  The same thing had happened the previous night: the moment his blood touched the phantom's knife, it reappeared.  He knew blood had iron, but it was nowhere near refined nor concentrated enough to have any effect on ghosts.  And yet it was enough to void the phantom's cloaking powers.  What on earth was so special about his blood?

Forget that.  He had more important things to worry about right now.

He moved to grab his kukri, then froze when he felt the blade of the phantom's glowing knife at his throat.  "Not so fast, hunter.  We still have unfinished business to take care of."

"What's the rush, mate?" Sniper said calmly.  "I reckon you got until that blood dries before you can poof off somewhere."

The phantom looked rather amused at Sniper's comment.  "You really shouldn't talk that way to ghosts, you know."

"What're you gonna do, throw a tantrum?" Sniper retorted.  "There's nothing you can do I haven't seen before."

"Is that so?"

"I'm not dense enough to think that phantoms can't cross hallowed ground."

The phantom regarded Sniper from behind its glowing mask.  "No, you're not," it answered slowly.  "You're a strange one, hunter.  I've met many of your kind during my existence...but never one quite like you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

This time the phantom chuckled.  Then it leaned in close until its face was inches away from his own.  "Tell me: if I were to run this knife through your neck right now, how afraid would you be of the death that follows?"

Sniper stared down at the phantom.  His entire adult life was spent hunting and killing monsters: he had had more close brushes with death than he could count.  But he knew better than to think that he was not afraid of dying.  No one was above feeling that kind of fear.  Not even someone like himself.

Still, he did not make it this far as a hunter without being good at it.  There were two skills prided himself in: his aim and his poker face.  In addition to the other precautions against ghosts he had taken, he was practically unreadable to anything supernatural.  The phantom might as well have held a knife to a brick wall.

"You're not gonna kill me," Sniper said evenly.

The phantom tilted its head slightly.  "No?"

"I'm not stupid, spook. If you wanted to kill me, you had plenty of chances last night.  But you didn't then and you sure as hell won't now."

"And why is that?

"It's not about killing.  All you care about is the thrill of it.  You said yourself you've never met a hunter like me.  You're not gonna make your move until all the cards are on the table."

The phantom smiled.  "Very perceptive, hunter.  I can see why you have the reputation that you do."

Sniper raised an eyebrow.  "So you've heard of me, then?"

"Word travels fast in the spectral world.  Almost every ghost has heard of you, _Sniper_."  The phantom said his name with a touch of reverence.  "How you never miss a shot.  How your sixth sense allowed you to see through illusions.  There is even a rumor that you have resistance to magic."

Sniper blinked.  That was a first.

"When I heard that such a person existed, I knew that I simply had to see them for myself," the phantom continued.  "Of course, tracking you down was not an option.  Someone as skilled as yourself would have taken weeks to find.  Maybe even months.

"So, I came here, and I got to work.  It was easy to draw attention to myself, and the locals are far too foolish to know how to deal with me.  And sooner or later, someone would call for you."

"So, what?  You just gonna run me around in circles until I give up and let you off me?"

"Something like that."

"Then you don't know me at all, mate.  I'm not an easy man to kill.  This plan of yours ain't gonna work."

Sniper felt the blade press slightly harder on the skin right over his jugular vein.  "Is that a challenge, hunter?"

Sniper knew what the phantom was trying to do.  Ghosts were entities of emotion: they thrived on passion and fear.  It was looking for any sign of weakness, any cracks in resolve through which it might slip in and take hold.

He stared down at the phantom's cold grey eyes.  He could feel his pulse against the glowing knife as he took slow, even breaths, and he could feel the phantom searching for a way in.  He smirked when a slight frown crossed its expression.  "What's the matter?  Thought you had me all figured out by now."

To Sniper's surprise, the phantom merely snorted and lifted the glowing knife from his neck.  "Oh, Sniper.  You think I don't know what tricks you have up your sleeve?  I have killed countless of your kind.  You may have your sixth sense and impressive marksmanship, but at the end of the day, you are no different than they were.  Sooner or later, all the cards will be on the table -- and you have already done me the courtesy of showing me your trump card."

"Have I now?"

"Indeed.  It is currently sitting on your back, right above your heart."

Now it was the phantom's turn to smirk.  Sniper's eyes widened as he realized what the phantom was referring to.  He blocked the glowing knife swinging down at him, gripping the phantom tightly by the wrist, but the damage had already been done.  He had let his guard down, and in that brief moment the phantom found its opening.

He braced himself as he felt the foreign presence probe at his mind, but it stopped just short of entering thanks to the very thing the phantom had just mentioned.  Sniper aimed a kick at the phantom, throwing it back against the wall.  He reached behind him to grab his kukri, but even as his fingers closed around the blade the outline of the phantom was already fading.  The blood on its suit had dried, and any effects that it had were now null.

Sniper swung forward blindly, but the blade hit only the wall.  He stood and waited, but felt nothing.  The phantom was gone.

There were loud footsteps outside the room.  Sniper looked up to see the Engineer running in (the real one this time), shotgun at the ready.  "I heard someone fighting somethin' in here, what's goin' on?"

Sniper sheathed the kukri back into its holster.  "The phantom was here."

The Engineer grumbled.  "I s'pose it's too much to ask for him to at least pretend to be scared of those traps.  You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sniper said, picking up his shirt from where it had fallen on the floor and putting it on.  "But we gotta deal with this thing fast.  I'm going after it tonight."

"You sure you don't just wanna set up camp and wait?" the Engineer asked.

Sniper shook his head.  "Too dangerous.  It's clever enough to avoid a trap when it sees one.  Best to just go after it."  He grabbed his jacket and pulled it onto his shoulders.  "'Sides, I'm a hunter.  Hunters like to chase things down."

The Engineer nodded.  "You want me to go along for backup?"

"Nah, I work better alone.  No offense."

"No, no, I get it.  I'd probably just end up gettin' in the way," the Engineer replied amiably.  "But if there's anything you need, just let me know."

"Actually, do you got any empty bottles sitting around?" Sniper asked, slipping the strap of the holster over his shoulder.

The Engineer rummaged around some of the crates in the room.  "I got a couple 'a Mason jars here."

"That'll do," Sniper said, picking up one of the jars.  He opened it and set it on the edge of the sink.  Then he pulled out his hunting knife from his belt and set it next to the jar.  "Grab me some bandages, will ya?" he asked, rolling up his sleeve.

The Engineer nodded and left the room.  When he returned, Sniper had filled the jar halfway with his own blood.  He grabbed a roll of gauze with a quick thanks and wrapped it around the cut he had made on his forearm.

"I take it you got a plan?" the Engineer said, helping the hunter tie the gauze tightly in place

"Somethin' like that," Sniper replied.  He screwed the lid back on the jar, watching the dark red liquid swish and stain the glass.

There may be no red-blooded man who did not fear death, but Sniper was not going to let that get in the way of some stupid phantom.  He still had one more card up his sleeve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I've got a jar of blood!" -- Sniper, _Hunted/Haunted_ (2017)
> 
> It's debatable whether or not a jar of blood is better or wrose than a jar of urine. I guess Spy will decide in the next chapter.
> 
> Spring break was last week so I decided to do absolutely nothing. And then I had a bunch of schoolwork to do. Learning is fun, but not when you have to write six billion papers. On the plus side, though, I'm very good at writing papers, and some of that carries over to writing fanfics. But yeah, this chapter took a bit longer to come out than I intended.
> 
> I've recently discovered a music group called The Rigs. Their music is very folky/bluesy with alternative rock elements, really sets the mood for this fic. I often have "All the King's Men" on loop when thinking about this story.


	5. Confrontation

When dealing with ghosts, there was always the very real threat of possession.  Looking directly at a ghost's eyes was the surest way to let it into one's mind.  Sniper had done just that, after the phantom knocked the reflective glasses from his face -- but there were other ways to guard against possession.

Each hunter had his own unique mark.  Sniper had gotten the tattoo shortly after becoming a hunter.  He looked up the most powerful warding sigils he could find in the literature and bound the spell himself.  Signs for salt, silver, iron, lead, and ash -- substances that deterred the supernatural -- layered together to form an array of lines and symbols sealed into his skin on his back, right above his heart.  It was the only bit of complex magic he had ever succeeded in getting to work.

The phantom had seen it when it saw the reflection of his back in the mirror.  As he cleaned his rifle that evening he berated himself for being careless, for letting his guard down.  He should have known better.

Sniper set the rifle on its rack above the driver's seat, then returned to sit on the weapons crate at the back of the van, picking up the jar sitting on the floor next it and inspecting it. He ran his fingers over the markings scratched out on the lid of the jar: a simple spell the Engineer had given him to ensure the contents stayed fresh until he needed to use it. He was fairly confident that just his blood alone would do the trick, but he added some iron and charcoal dust just to be safe. The result was a thick, dark red liquid that looked gruesome even to Sniper.

He looked up out the small window over the countertop. The sun was setting outside, the night slowly settling in with each passing minute. Once it was dark, he would set out in search of the phantom. This time, it was going to be him to be the one that did the hunting.

As it should be.

Sniper set the jar down and took down the oil lamp hanging next to the window. He pulled out a box of matches from his pocket, struck one alight with his teeth, and tossed it into the lamp. Then he walked to the front of the van, setting the lamp down on the dashboard and sitting down in the driver's seat. 

He did not start the van immediately.  The town may be small, but there were still a dozen places the phantom could be hiding at.  At this point, any other hunter would simply have to set up a trap and wait, hoping for the best.

But as the phantom said, Sniper was no ordinary hunter.

Dusk had fallen over the small desert town.  Legend had it that dusk was the time of day when boundary between living world and the spectral world blurred, when it was easiest for the mundane to interact with the supernatural.  Sniper did not buy into folklore, but he knew all myths had some basis in fact.  In this case, there was some truth to the legend: the presence of the supernatural could indeed be more strongly felt with dusk.  He had no idea what the reason behind it was, but he did not care.  All that he needed to know was that it was true.

He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank.  The world around him faded into silence as he shut out any irrelevant noise or thoughts, concentrating on one thing only:

Find the phantom.

There, just on the edge of town.  Sniper opened his eyes and started the van.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Sniper tapped his finger on the steering wheel, surveying the small forest before him.  This far outside of town, everything was completely dark, save for the faint glow of the moon.  Cutting the engine, he picked up the oil lamp and walked around to open the back of the van.

Time to get to work.

In the warm glow of the lamp, he began collecting the array of tools and weapons he had selected beforehand.  He checked the sharpness of his kukri one last time before slinging the holster over his shoulder.  He did the same with his silver hunting knife before sliding it into his belt.  He picked up the silver bullet rounds and tucked them into the holders on his jacket.  He  hefted the Mason jar in his hands, feeling the weight and warmth of its contents, and strapped it to his belt.

Lastly, he returned to the front of the van and picked up his hunting rifle.  Extinguishing the flame in the lamp, he slung the rifle around his shoulder and proceeded into the forest.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

It did not take long before Sniper began to sense the phantom's presence.  He could not get a precise location, but he started walking towards the general direction of the feeling.

Something behind him shifted and Sniper turned around, his rifle at the ready.  He could barely see anything, but he knew it was nearby; he could feel it watching him.

"Alas, here we are," a voice spoke from the darkness.  "The hunter and the hunted, for a final confrontation."

Sniper said nothing in response, standing stock still with his rifle aimed at the shadows.

"You've come a long way to die, you know."

"Quit wasting my time and just get this over with," Sniper growled.

"Oh Sniper, you have done so well in playing along with my little game thus far.  Surely there is no harm in indulging me for a bit longer?"

He could sense the presence moving, circling him, keeping its distance.  It was toying with him, trying to mess with him and get to his head.  That was not going to happen on his watch.

There, to the left!  Sniper swiftly lifted the crosshairs to eye level and fired.  Laughter rang out from the shadows, and he knew he had missed the shot.  "And here I thought you never missed a shot," the phantom remarked.

The presence shifted, but Sniper was ready.  He swiftly loaded another round into the rifle.  He tracked the movements of the phantom, then pointed a few inches ahead of its trajectory and fired again.  A gasp followed by a faint wisp of silver smoke told him he had hit his mark.

The phantom materialized, its hand gripping the spot right above where its heart would be.  It ripped out the silver, examining it for a moment before flashing Sniper a sly grin.  "That's more like it," it said before dropping the bullet and vanishing.

Sniper gritted his teeth.  So much for silver prolonging the decloaking effect.

"What's the matter?" the phantom chided.  "Finally met your match?"

"You bloody wish," Sniper muttered.

He opened the bolt to reloaded the rifle when suddenly every nerve in his body screamed danger.  As if by reflex he whipped around, lifting the rifle by the ends just in time to block a blow strong enough for the impact to stun him.  There was a ripple in the air as the phantom reappeared, gripping the glowing knife in its hand.  The knife had been jammed into the bolt mechanism, and for a brief moment the phantom struggled to remove it.

With a growl, Sniper yanked the rifle back, trying to throw the phantom off balance.  It almost worked, but the phantom held fast to the handle of the knife.  Sniper jerked the rifle again to dislodge the knife, but it was stuck fast in the bolt mechanism.  The phantom brought its other hand to lend more strength to its grip -- then, in a smooth motion, twisted the knife.  Sniper heard the sickening crunch of the bolt mechanism breaking as the phantom freed the knife and vanished.

He glanced down briefly and his heart sank at the sight of the splintered wood and crushed metal.  His rifle was now useless.  Growling, he dropped the weapon and reached behind him to pull out his kukri.  "You're gonna pay for that, spook!" he snarled.

"Aw, did I break you favorite toy?" the phantom goaded.  It was circling him again, but Sniper held his ground, taking a low stance with his kukri at the ready.  

He felt it approach from behind and turned around to parry the invisible knife swing.  Then again, and again.  Each time the phantom attacked, it was to his back.  Sniper realized what was happening: the bloody phantom was aiming for the anti-possession tattoo on his back.

This is bad, he thought to himself.  He may have the ability to sense the supernatural, but he was still human.  At this rate, the phantom would keep attacking him until it ran Sniper to exhaustion, and then it was game over for him.  He reached down and pulled out the jar from his belt.  It was now or never.

When the phantom attacked again, Sniper threw the jar as hard as he could.  The glass shattered on impact, sending its contents flying everywhere.  With an exclamation of disgust the phantom reappeared, swearing in a language Sniper did not understand.  " _Ç'est quoi ce merdier!_ " the phantom hissed, staring in revulsion at the sticky red fluid coating the front of its body.

"That's for breaking my gun, ya spook!" Sniper shouted, swinging his kukri at the phantom.

The phantom dodged the blade and glared up at Sniper, seething with fury as it attack him with a flurry of swings and stabs.  Sniper barely avoided and parried the hits, and part of him wondered if it was not in his best interest to piss off the phantom as much as he just did.  Still, now that it was visible, finishing off the phantom should be a piece of cake.  He just needed to find an opening…

There!  Sniper thrust his kukri forward…

...and missed.

A sharp pain suddenly pierced his side as the phantom's knife sliced into him, leaving a deep cut along his ribcage.  Sniper forced himself to ignore the pain and swung his kukri forward, but the shock of the injury had distracted him just enough for his attacks to become hasty and predictable.  It was all the phantom needed to avoid the wild swings and maneuver behind him.

"I told you, Sniper -- there was only one way for this to end," he heard the phantom whisper in his ear.

He whipped around, one hand clutching the bleeding wound in his side, the other hand holding the kukri in front of him, ready to strike --

Sniper cried out, dropping the kukri as he keeled over, his knees hitting the ground.  Hot pain blossomed from where the knife pierced the center of his back.

Right where his tattoo was.

" _With my knife in your back._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and now my sleep schedule is officially screwed. Damn you, daylight savings.
> 
> On the plus side, though, y'all get to enjoy this wonderful cliffhanger!
> 
> Spy pisses off Sniper by breaking his gun. Sniper pisses off Spy by throwing a jar of blood at him. Spy responds by stabbing Sniper.
> 
> Yup, I'd say their relationship is off to a good start!


	6. Not Dead Yet

Sniper was no stranger to pain.  He had dealt with all sorts of injuries, both mundane and supernatural.  For a hunter with his experience, it was easy to swallow it and hold it down.

But what he was experiencing now was beyond pain.  Pain, he could deal with, but this -- this was so much worse.

He was lying on his back, and he could feel pain and warm blood radiate from the center of his back, and he could feel the phantom invading every corner of his mind, every crevice of his thoughts.  It was as if he were experiencing every emotion known to man; fear, grief, terror, rage, and pleasure shot through him all at once, threatening to overwhelm him.  Even the stabbing throbs of pain in his back was nothing compared to this.

Slowly, he could feel it take over him.  And as soon as it did, there would be nothing left of him, save for a hollow, lifeless corpse.

He could not let that happen.  He _will not_ let that happen.

With no other defenses left, Sniper had only the force of his will.  He tried to clear his mind, but between each wave of raging emotion it became harder and harder to focus.  Through the haze of the emotional onslaught and burning in his chest he felt the phantom's hands wrap around his neck and squeeze.  He needed to shut the phantom out, and he needed to do it _now_.

Sniper squeezed his eyes shut and pushed back against the pain, the cold fingers around his neck, against everything -- every emotion, every sensation, every foreign presence in his body.

Shut it out, he forced himself to think, over and over.

_Shut it out.  Shut it out._

One by one, the sensations began to die down.  First to go was the pain, then the panic, and then the myriad of emotions flowing through him.  Slowly, Sniper felt his mind go blank, everything fading into nothingness.

_Shut it out._

He could feel the phantom push back, alien thoughts still invading his head.  He heard words being whispered to him, and he was not sure if it was the phantom speaking into his ear or his mind:

 _Don't resist this._   _Just give in._

Sniper refused to back down, resisting against its will with his own.

_Shut it out.  Shut it all out._

_Stop fighting this.  Let go._

Now Sniper was beginning felt effects of being cut off from oxygen weakening his body, and he knew he was running out of time.  His mind strained to free itself from the phantom's possession, but it still refused to release him.

_Shut it out._

He let his arm fall to the side, and his fingers brushing against the handle of the kukri…

_Just relax.  It will all be over soon._

He was so close…

_Shut it OUT._

Sniper shoved back against the phantom with every last scrap of willpower he could muster -- and with a hoarse yell he thrust his arm forward, kukri firmly in his grip.

And suddenly it was over.

Air rushed back into his lungs as he gradually regained control of his own thoughts.  Sniper tried to take deep breaths, but they turned into violent coughs as he choked on the blood rising in his throat.  The stabbing pain in his back had faded to a dull throb, but he knew he was going to bleed out if he did not do something fast.  He had first aid supplies, but the van was too far away.  There was no way he could make it back in time in his current state.

He had no choice.  He would have to use magic to keep himself alive for long enough to get back to the van and retrieve the supplies.  Maybe even drive back to the church.

Groaning, Sniper pushed himself over onto his stomach, ignoring every painful protest of his body.  He looked over and saw the phantom collapsed on the ground next to him, screaming in pain as it clutched the kukri, which had been run completely through its chest.  The blow had not been enough to kill it, but Sniper hoped it would be enough to distract it for as long as it took to get himself out of there.

Healing spells were out of the question: they were far too complicated and beyond his ability to execute.  Taking several shallow breaths, he recalled the spell for sealing wounds and began to draw it in the dirt.  It was simpler than a healing spell, but still ridiculously complex.  His hand shook as he traced out the circles and wrote out the sigils.  He slowly began drawing the lines to bind the spell, but it was all so complicated and his vision was beginning to fade.

He fought to stay conscious as he tried to finish the spell.  He could not lose yet, he was so close to binding it, he was so close…

So close…

His hand fell limp to the ground, the last few lines undrawn, and he sank into oblivion.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The first thing Sniper felt when he awoke was that he was lying on his side on something soft.  For a moment he wondered if he was hallucinating -- then he felt the throbbing pain in his head.  No, he had to be alive.

Alive.  How was that possible?

He remembered losing too much blood, drawing the sealing spell, then blacking out before he could finish it.  How the hell was he alive?

Nevermind that.  He was alive.  That was all that mattered, and that was all he needed to care about.

Sniper opened his eyes and saw the familiar patterned blankets of the cot in his van.  He sure as hell did not remember coming back here.  Someone had found him, brought him to the van.

Soft light filtered through the small window, and Sniper could tell that it was just past sunrise.  He reached for the canteen hanging on the wall next to the cot, taking slow sips of water and surveying the van for any sign of his rescuer.  He saw his bloody shirt and jacket lying on the floor next to a bucket filled with water and bloodstained gauze.  His belt and all of its accessories were laid out on the small countertop across from his cot.

For a moment he wondered if the Engineer had somehow found him in time, then dismissed the conclusion: if the Engineer had found him, he would be back at the church.  No, someone else had saved him.

Slowly, Sniper climbed down from his cot with shaking limbs and stumbled to the countertop, waiting for his head to stop spinning and for the urge to vomit to subside. He must have lost a lot of blood during the fight with the phantom.

The phantom.

He remembered stabbing the phantom with the kukri right before blacking out.  He remembered the phantom still being very much alive before blacking out.

As quickly as he dared without sending another wave of nausea through his gut, Sniper fished out a clean shirt from his storage crate, wincing as he pulled it over his head.  He strapped the belt onto his trousers, making sure his silver hunting knife was in place.  Then he grabbed the machine pistol from his weapons stash in the back of the van and quietly opened the back door.  

Sniper peered outside, and saw only the edge of the forest.  Cautiously, he stepped outside and looked around.  No one in sight.  Sensing nothing out of the ordinary, he proceeded into the forest, roughly retracing the route he took the night before.

It was not long until he came to the place where he fought with the phantom.  His hunting rifle lay broken on the ground where he had dropped it.  Nearby was a large dark stain in the ground where he had nearly bled out a few hours earlier.

Sniper stared at the stain.  There was no way he should have survived losing that much blood.

He noticed the sealing spell he had tried to draw in the ground, and knelt down to inspect it.  The spell was complete, all the binding lines in place.  Someone -- or something -- had finished the spell for him.

His kukri lay nearby on the ground.  No sign of the phantom.

Sniper cursed under his breath.  It had gotten away, and nearly killed him in the process.  He tucked the pistol into his belt and picked up the kukri and the rifle and started making his way back to the van.  The rifle was in worse shape than remembered.  He felt frustration rise in his chest and forced himself to calm down.  The phantom was still out there.  With the tattoo on his back compromised, he needed to keep his emotions in check.

He went through everything he needed to do.  First he would go back to the church, get some proper rest and food.  Maybe the Engineer had some spare rifles sitting around.  Hell, maybe he could even work some of his magic and fix his rifle for him.  It was a long shot, but he liked his gun.  If there was any chance in saving it, he would take it.

The thought cheered him up.

So lost he was in the thought that when he arrived at the edge of the forest he almost did not notice the man standing by his van.  The tall, thin man wearing a dark blue suit.

Sniper froze.  The man turned to face him, a glowing mask obscuring the details of his face.

"Hello, Sniper," the phantom greeted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, this just keeps getting better and better. Y'all better buckle down, 'cause this is fic is gonna be one wild ride.
> 
> I was really tempted to name this chapter "surprise, bitch: bet you thought you'd seen the last of me" or something along those lines.
> 
> So I finally finished all the episodes of Bones available on Netflix (a fantastic show, btw, it does everything right and is honestly one of the best crime shows ever written), so I started rewatching Supernatural (back when the show was good). Really helping me set the mood.


	7. A Proposition

"Before you pull out your gun and shoot me," the phantom began, raising its hands as Sniper reached for the machine pistol tucked in his belt, "you may want to -- "

Sniper pulled out the gun and shot six times into the phantom's chest before it could finish its sentence.

The phantom closed its eyes and gave a long sigh.  "Not do that," it finished, opening its eyes to return an irritated glance at the hunter.  "Now if you are quite finished, there is something we need to discuss."

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't empty the clip into your sorry ghost arse right now," Sniper growled.

"Well first of all, those bullets are not nearly enough to stop me," the phantom said, nodding at the gun in Sniper's hand.  "But in all seriousness, I really do need you to listen to me right now."

"You nearly killed me, why the hell should I listen to anything you have to say?"

"Trust me, hunter, if I wanted you dead, you would be nothing but a corpse rotting in those woods right now."

So it had been the phantom that finished the sealing spell and brought him back to his van.  Sniper was not sure what to make of that.

"Look, I get that you are pissed at me about last night.  And believe me, the feeling is mutual.  But the fact is, neither of us are in any shape for another fight." Sniper glanced down and saw a thin glowing outline on the phantom's chest where he had run it through with his kukri.  "Also, here you are, alive and well, no thanks to me."

Sniper frowned.  If it wanted him dead, it certainly would not have bothered saving him last night.  But then again, it also had plenty of other chances to kill him before then, too, and it did not.  How did he know if it was not just going to do it later?

"If you are wondering whether or not I am simply going to kill you, the answer is simple," the phantom said, interrupting his thoughts.  "Your sixth sense allows you to detect anything that presents a danger to you, among other things.  If I were lying, you would know."

Sniper narrowed his eyes.  "What do you want?"

"I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

"I...need your help with something."

Sniper blinked.  "You want...my help?"

"Yes."

"What does a ghost need a _hunter's_ help for?"

"Not just any hunter, Sniper.  I need _you_ , specifically."

This was getting weirder and weirder by the minute.  "Why the bloody hell d'you need _my_ help for?"

"Because of your ability -- or, abilities, rather."

Sniper knew it was referring to his sixth sense.  "And why's that?"

The phantom took a deep breath.  "I am looking for something: something I cannot find on my own.  But you can, and I need your power to find it."

Sniper closed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts.  "Alright, hold on, lemme get this straight.  You need _my_ help -- specifically -- to help you find something."

"Yes."

He stared at the phantom.  "You...do realize I'm a hunter, right?  My job is literally to kill you."

The phantom shrugged.  "And I nearly killed you last night.  I believe that makes us even, no?"

Sniper could not believe this.  What the bloody hell was going on?

The phantom sighed.  "I realize this all sounds rather bizarre.  Believe me, I would think the same if I were in your place."  He paused.  "If you would like to sit down for a moment to think it over, you are welcome to do so.  There's no rush."

Part of Sniper told him not to lower the pistol, but the rest of him was simply too confused to by the entire situation to comply.  Instead he walked over and leaned on the side of his van, pistol hanging loosely at his side.

This was insane.  He was a hunter, a man who made his living by tracking down and killing monsters.  Monsters like the phantom currently standing next to him, watching him placidly like it had not just tried to kill him only a few hours ago.  There was no way it could be telling the truth.

He considered what the phantom had said.  It did have a point: he would know if it was lying.  And Sniper sensed nothing out of the ordinary.  Other than the fact that he was out standing in the middle of nowhere in southwest America, having a chat with a deadly phantom that had nearly killed him.

Could he really trust that?  His sixth sense always had a mind of its own, acting on its own accord.  It was not something he considered good enough to rely on all the time.  But then again, it had never failed him, either.  As far as his gut was concerned, he was not in any danger at the moment.

Plus, the phantom had technically saved him after he tried very hard to kill it.  Hell, the thing even cleaned him up and put him up in his bed after he stabbed it with a very big knife.  Even if it had only come after he himself nearly died, that had to count for something, right?

Bloody hell.  He was not going to take everything the phantom was saying seriously.  He was definitely not going to do that.

Right?

Sniper looked up at the phantom.  "What exactly is it that you're looking for?"

"My bones."

Sniper blinked.  That was not what he expected to hear.  "Your bones?"

"Yes."

"You want me -- a hunter -- to find your bones."

"Correct."

"Are you bloody insane?  You're asking me to track down and find the very thing that can be used to kill you, they should be the last thing you want me to find!" Sniper said, giving the phantom a look of complete and utter disbelief.  "What the hell do you even want with your bones?"

The phantom sighed again.  "I want to recover my memories."

"Your...memories?  From, what, when you were alive?"

"Something like that, yes."

Sniper thought for a moment, then crossed his arms.  "Alright, then.  Say I believe you.  What's in it for me?"

"The location of my bones," the phantom answered.

Sniper stared.  "You're serious?"

"I could give you money, if you wanted, but I think my bones are a much more valuable prize."

Sniper raised an eyebrow.  "You're willing to trade your _bones_ to a hunter?  Doesn't sound like it's your smartest offer, mate."

The phantom rolled its eyes.  "Look, I just want my memories.  That is all I care about.  And making a deal with you is the best chance that I have of getting them."

Sniper let out a deep sigh.  His brain told him this was all too good to be true.  Since when was a monster willing to lead a hunter to the object of its own demise?  There was simply no way this phantom was telling the truth about all this.  It must have some sort of ulterior motive.

But his instinct told him nothing.  He stared at the phantom, trying to find any sign that the thing was playing dirty with him, and found nothing.  For all he knew, it was telling the truth.

He looked back up at the phantom.  "Just find your bones, that's it?"

"Yes."

"You're serious about this?"

"Yes."

"And you're not trying to trick me or anything?"

The phantom raised its hands.  "Everything I say is genuine.  Just help me find my bones.  Afterwards, you are welcome to do whatever you want with them: burn them, bury them, whatever it is you please.  They are yours."

Sniper gave the phantom a long, hard look, then made his decision.

"Alright, then.  You have yourself a deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spy is a complicated character. And his motives are equally complicated. Whatever could he be planning. It is a mystery. All very fun.
> 
> A couple of you mentioned Medic for the last chapter. I did consider giving him the minor role of happening upon a bleeding Sniper, but I have better plans for him. Plans big enough to warrant its own fic separate from this one. But all in good time, b/c between this and the college AU fic, I already have plenty on my plate.


	8. Things of Value

The sun was above the horizon now as Sniper drove back to the church.  He rolled the window down to let in the cool morning air of the desert and tried his best to ignore this entire situation he had gotten himself into.

A supernatural monster that had nearly killed him only a few hours ago had asked for his help to find its one true weakness, and he had said yes.  This whole thing was insane.  Why the bloody hell did he say yes?

Part of him knew why.  Sniper did not want to, but he could not help it: he was genuinely curious.  What did the phantom want to remember?  Was it something it forgot, or never knew in the first place?   _Why_ did it want to remember?

But what did he care?  He never gave a second thought about anything or anyone that did not directly benefit him -- let alone a monster that was more than capable of killing him.  If anything, he was putting himself in very obvious danger.  Well, more danger than he would otherwise be in as a hunter.  Like sticking his head in a dragon's mouth and expecting it to not chomp down and bite his head off.

The phantom was sitting in the passenger seat, picking at its chest where Sniper had shot it earlier.  It pulled out one of the bullets and inspected it.  "Lead bullets, nice try," it said, letting it drop to the floor with a clatter.

"Oi, don't waste my bullets," Sniper said.

"You've already wasted six of them," the phantom replied.  "I warned you not to shoot me."

"Yeah, well.  You stabbed me in the back.  Literally.  Didn't exactly have a good reason to listen to you."

The phantom chuckled.  "Touché."

A few minutes later Sniper heard the sound of the rest of the bullets being dumped on the floor.  He glared at the phantom, who returned only a smile of amusement.

"You're picking those up later," Sniper said, turning back to watch the road, scowling.

A long stretch of silenced passed as he drove on.

Sniper glanced over at the phantom, who was now casually leaning on its arm with its elbow resting on the side door, staring out the passenger window.  Warm sunlight shone on its pale skin and raven hair and illuminated its cool grey eyes, and Sniper could not help but feel struck by how completely human it looked.  If it were not for the glowing mask and the bloodless wounds, he would have thought he had just picked up a very strange and well-dressed hitchhiker.

He tried to make out the details of the phantom's face, but other than the eyes and the mouth, most of it was obstructed by the mask.  The mask itself seemed to be made from solid light, forming geometric shapes which fit the contours of its face, hovering just above the skin.  Under its soft blue glow he could make out an ornate, delicate filigree pattern, which seemed to shimmer in the morning light.  Sniper did not consider himself the type to care for aesthetics, but he had to admit he found the mask alluring to look at.  It was like nothing he had ever seen before.

The phantom shifted its head slightly to look at Sniper.  "Yes?"

Sniper looked away.  "What?"

"You were staring at me."

"So?"

"So, you are a hunter.  This is probably the longest you've sat next to a supernatural being without having to kill it."

"Is there a point to what you're trying to say?" Sniper said tersely.

The phantom rolled its eyes.  "My point is, you probably have questions.  And you are welcome to ask."

Sniper snorted.  "First you ask me to find your bones, then you're just gonna answer any question I ask you?"

"Why not?" the phantom answered with a shrug.  "We have a long journey ahead of us, we might as well have an engaging conversation here and there."

Sniper stared at the road.  What the phantom said was true: he had never spent this much time with a monster next to him that was not actively trying to kill him.  He already knew a good deal about different monsters, but his knowledge was mostly limited to their weaknesses and how to kill them.  He had no idea what else he would want to know.  But then again, he had never had the chance to think about it.

And he _was_ curious about the phantom.  Maybe more curious than he should be.  Now that it was not trying to play games with him -- or kill him for that matter (or maybe it was, he had no idea what ulterior motives it might have) -- it seemed like an interesting creature.

He asked the first question that came to his mind.  "Why the mask?"

The phantom blinked.  "To hide my face, obviously."

"Yeah, I figured that bit out," Sniper said dryly.  "But there's no point in hiding your face when you can just kill whoever looks at you."

"This mask does more than hide my face from humans," the phantom replied.  "It also conceals me from supernatural beings.  Other ghosts, for example."

"Why would you need to hide yourself from other ghosts?  Wouldn't they just leave you alone for the most part?"

"For the most part, yes.  But there is always the chance they will remember seeing me."

"So some other spook out there sees your face, so what?"

"So, there is the chance that they will tell someone about it, which will make it easier for whoever that someone is to track me down."

"And I'm guessing that's something you wanna avoid," Sniper remarked.

The phantom smirked.  "Precisely.  I like to cause trouble, but I would rather not have to deal with the consequences."

Sniper considered the explanation.  He knew there were ways for people to communicate with the supernatural: rituals and spells to summon and contact ghosts and spirits and whatever else lived in the spectral world.  Doing so was very dangerous.  Ghosts were fickle creatures, subject to the whims of their emotions.  One wrong move -- or even just bad luck -- and it could all end very poorly.

But even with its dangers, talking to ghosts also had its rewards.  Sometimes, a ghost would see something and remember it, and could be called upon to relay that information.  They could often provide answers to questions that no living being could answer.

It was something Sniper himself would never consider doing: he simply did not deal with things that could not be physically killed.  And he never had something he so desperately wanted to know that he would go asking ghosts for answers.

They were arriving at the edge of town now.  Sniper could see the outline of the near-derelict church in the distance.

"Why a ghost?" he asked.

"Hm?"  The phantom gave him a questioning look.

"Why'd you become a ghost?"

"Honestly, I do not know."

"You don't know?  Isn't it s'posed to be -- I dunno -- the main reason why you exist?  And you don't know what it is?"

The phantom shrugged.  "I don't remember."

Sniper gave the phantom a doubtful look.  "Couldn't you've just asked other ghosts?"

"I tried, but I did not get anything concrete. It looks like I will have to find the answers myself."

Sniper paused.  "Well, what about your name?  D'you at least remember that?"

The phantom sighed.  "I'm afraid I do not know even that."

"Seriously, you don't remember anything?"

The phantom took a moment to think about its response.  "I remember everything that has happened to me during the past forty years, but I can't recall anything past that with clarity.  Everything before is just a blur.  I have no idea how old I am, who I was, or why I came back.  But I want to know.  Hence me asking you for your assistance."

Another silence passed as the van drew closer and closer to the church.

"So...what do I call you then?" Sniper asked.

"You can call me Spy," the phantom answered.

"'Spy'?"

"The English translation of what people called me.  It has nothing to do with my real name, I don't think, but it's only thing I can remember."

Sniper pulled the van to a stop in front of the church.  He cut the engine, wondering how he was going to explain this whole situation to the Engineer.  The phantom opened the side door and stepped out of the van, casually brushing the dust off of its suit jacket.

Sniper quickly followed.  "Oi, Spy," he called out.  "You still gotta pick up my bullets."

"Don't worry, Sniper," Spy said.

He tossed something small and gleaming through the air.  Sniper caught it in his hand: it was the silver bullet he had used the night before.

"I'll always be considerate of the things that are of value to you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't wanna write my paper. So I'm gonna write another chapter of this instead.
> 
> The story is going through something of a lull right now after all those chapters of back-to-back action. Which is fine, but I'm gonna make sure the next chapter leads to something a bit more interesting.


	9. Nothing Under the Sun

The Engineer was sitting on the front steps fiddling with one of his devices, looking up when Spy and Sniper approached. "Well, this's an interesting development," he said calmly, simply regarding them both with casual interest. This was not the reaction Sniper was expecting.

"Spy and I have something of an...agreement," the Engineer explained, seeing the look on Sniper's face. "See, I have a little something that's very good for gettin' rid of ghosts. Permanently. Gives our spooky friend here good incentive to keep his distance from me." He gave Spy a look as he walked right past one of the traps. "For the most part, at least."

"So, what?" Sniper asked. "You just let him run around and do whatever he wants, s'long as he doesn't bother you?"

The Engineer shrugged. "Somethin' like that."

Sniper regarded the Engineer. He was not sure how he felt knowing that this man willingly let the phantom get away with killing people every now and then. He supposed the Engineer had his reasons for his actions, like Sniper himself did -- it was not like he hunted monsters out of the goodness of his heart.

"I'll be honest, I was rather hopin' for you to get finished off this time around, what with him bein' a seasoned hunter n' all -- and I don't doubt that he could've gotten the job done," the Engineer said to Spy. "Must've offered him something mighty valuable for him to change his mind."

"Please, I am not some crossroads dealer looking to cheat a man out of his life," Spy scoffed, picking up one of the traps and examining it, apparently unaffected by its function. "What I offered him is what I believe to be a fair price for what I seek."

Sniper snorted. "Didn't take you to be the type who played fair."

"I'm not a fool, Sniper. I know when an equal exchange is to be made," Spy said, glancing up from the device in his hands. "Someone like you would settle for no less."

"You and the Engineer here are on even terms. Why didn't you just ask him?"

"He did," the Engineer answered. "Unfortunately I've got...well, other matters to attend to that keep me from leavin' town."

"Ah yes," Spy said distastefully. "That _thing_ you keep under the church..."

Something about Spy's tone unsettled Sniper. "What is it, exactly?" he asked, suddenly very aware and wary of the ground he was standing on.

"It's probably best you don't know," was the Engineer's reply. "But nevermind that, you look like you've been through hell. Let's get you cleaned up and put some food in you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

"So, how about you?" Spy asked, leaning on the table as Sniper ate the breakfast that the Engineer had kindly made for him. "Why did you become a hunter?"

Sniper snorted, layering eggs onto a slice of toast on his plate. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Well, I did just answer some of your questions. It would only be fair if you answered mine."

"You're the one who offered. Not me," Sniper replied, adding a few slices of bacon on top of the eggs.

"You are avoiding my question," Spy said. "Hunting monsters is not a job for the half-hearted. It could be for the money, people can be quite generous when they live under constant threat, but I know it is not that. Perhaps you like the danger, I have met plenty of hunters who do what they do simply for the thrill of it, but that doesn't seem to be a motivation that suits you. Maybe it's simply because of your heritage, Australians are notoriously zealous hunters…"

Sniper ignored the phantom's musings as he chewed on a mouthful of toast and meat. He could care less what the phantom thought of him; he did not owe it his life's story just because it decided not to kill him when it had the chance. "Sorry, mate," Sniper said, picking up the mug of hot coffee next to the plate. "You can poke all you want, but I ain't tellin' you about my tragic backstory."

Spy raised an eyebrow with interest. "So there was tragedy involved?"

Sniper responded with only a long sip of coffee.

"Come now, it's a simple question," Spy chided. "It's not like I am asking for your birth name."

"Then answer me this," Sniper said. "How is it that a phantom knows how to bind a sealing spell?"

Spy sighed. "You are not going to like the answer."

"Which is?"

"I don't know."

Sniper almost groaned in frustration as he stabbed the toast with his fork. "That's becoming a regular thing with you. Is there anything you _do_ know?"

"I'll make you a deal: if you can ask me a question that I know the answer to and tell it to you, then you will answer mine."

Sniper pondered the offer. It seemed like a reasonable arrangement. "What's under the church?"

A sly smile curved Spy's lips as he walked away from the table. "Ah yes. That."

Sniper stared at Spy. "Are you actually gonna answer my question?"

"While I _do_ know the answer, I'm afraid I cannot answer it directly. Naming the creature could very well set it free from the fragile bindings that keep it in place -- a risk I am not willing to take. I can, however, describe it to you and you can figure out what it is for yourself from what I tell you."

Sniper leaned forward, intrigued: apparently there existed a creature that even a corporeal ghost such as Spy was afraid of.

Spy turned away, facing one of the boarded windows. "It is perhaps the among the most dangerous monsters in existence. Few men have laid eyes on its kind and lived to tell the tale."

Now Sniper was _really_ curious. "How dangerous are we talking here?"

"Dangerous enough that no mundane magic can hope to hold it. The Engineer is a resourceful man, but he is insane if he thinks he can keep something like _that_ under control." Spy turned to look at Sniper. "I'm surprised you haven't felt it yet. A presence that strong would certainly be detected by someone with your abilities."

Sniper shrugged. "Doesn't seem all that scary to me. Sounds more like a challenge, if anything."

"This is no joking matter, Sniper. This creature...it is unlike anything you have ever hunted. I have never met one myself, only ever heard myths of its existence. I was not even sure it was possible for such a creature to exist until I came here. Its powers are beyond anything you and I know. If you think something like me is a threat, then you cannot even begin to imagine what this creature is capable of doing to you and me. And worst of all, there is no way it can be killed."

"Nah, mate. Everything dies. There's nothing under the sun that can't be killed," Sniper replied. "I guarantee you, if it exists, I can kill it."

The phantom mouth to respond when the lights in the room dimmed and flickered. Sniper looked around in confusion as he felt a cold chill sweeping into the room, despite all the windows being tightly sealed. He glanced at Spy. "We didn't accidentally wake it, did we?"

"Trust me, if we woke _that_ thing we would both be dead -- although, technically, I am already dead," Spy said, his expression equally concerning as he looked out the window. "Ah. Well, that doesn't look good."

Sniper stood up and walked over the window. Where the sky should have been midday, it looked like it was already sunset. In the distance, he could see a thick smog slowly covering the town. "I've seen this before," he said quietly. "Used to happen all the time back home."

" _Miasme,_ " Spy muttered. "I have seen this, too, but...never this far west..."

The door to the room burst open, and the two of them turned around to see an apprehensive Engineer. "Night air coming in," he said, his voice urgent. "Sniper, grab anything you need and get back inside quick."

"Right," Sniper said. Moving fast, he made his way back to his van and began packing an overnight bag. He threw in all his usual tools: his rifle, machine pistol, kukri, hunting knife, spare ammunition, as well as a spare change of clothes -- he had no idea how long the smog was going to last. He reached under his work table and grabbed a large wooden box sealed in wax and twine strings and threw that into the bag, too.

Stepping outside, Sniper could see the smog get closer and closer. Normally he could simply outdrive it and stay in the next town over, but here...here out in the desert there was nowhere to go. It had been a long time since he had to wait out a smog indoors, he had only been a boy then. But he had survived them then, and this was no different now; smog was a walk in the park in his line of work.

Before leaving the van, he picked up the jars of saltwater plaster and animal blood and drew the circle and the sigils, then added two additional sigils on the back door and the front windshield.  Sure that everything was in place, Sniper slung his bag over his shoulders and headed back for the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, y'all. This chapter took a while to get finished: there was a lot I wanted to include, but then I realized most of it was just going to be filler, so I finally just decided to wrap it up and move on to the next thing.
> 
> In the meantime, I'll leave you guys to speculate as to what it is Engie has tucked away under the church...


	10. Pilot Light

The fog closed in slowly but steadily on the church.  By Sniper's calculations, they had about five minutes until the place was completely engulfed.  As he ran towards the old doors of the church, he saw that they too had been painted with blood sigils.  Once he was inside, the Engineer closed the door and slipped a heavy piece of wood between the handles to bar them shut.

Spy watched as he began filling in the gaps with salted plaster.  "Are you sure this will work?" he asked doubtfully.

"Ain't like you need to worry about the night air getting in, it won't affect you like it would us," the Engineer replied.

"Yes, but need I remind you that Sniper is more useful to me alive than dead.  I would prefer that he make it through this in one conscious piece."

Sniper ignored the phantom as he set down his bag on one of the dusty pews and pulled out the sealed box.  Using his hunting knife, he cut the twine strings and split the wax seals at the seam of the lid to open it.  The scent of eucalyptus drifted from the open box and for a moment Sniper felt like he had never left home.

"What's that you got there?" the Engineer asked.

Spy peered curiously inside the box.  "Interesting," he said, examining its contents.  "I didn't think people still used these."  The phantom picked up a folded sheet of parchment paper containing several large white flower petals.  "Do you even know what these are?"

"Madonna lilies," Sniper snapped, snatching the parchment from the phantom's hands and returning it to the box.  "Now get your hands offa these, there's probably something in here that'll give you ghost allergies or something."

Spy smirked with amusement as he watched the hunter search through the aromatic contents of the box, pulling out an assortment of packets and small glass vials and setting them aside.

The Engineer joined them at the pew, having finished filling the gaps of the door with plaster.  "Cloves, juniper, mint -- looks like you got the whole arsenal here," he commented.

"That's why I'm the best," Sniper said, closing the lid to the box.  "I'm always prepared."

As Sniper and the Engineer began arranging the contents of the packets in small stacks at the corners of the room, Spy inspected the box.  Carved into the lid were several sigils and spell circles, none of which seemed to form any coherent spell.  He ran a gloved hand over the fine grooves.

"Alright, that should do," Sniper said, drawing Spy's attention back to the present.

"I gotta say, it's rare to meet a hunter who knows his botany," the Engineer said, lighting a row a candles he placed in front of the main door.  "Most hunters I've met can't tell the difference between a dandelion and a daisy."

"It _is_ peculiar that a hunter would even have such a collection," Spy mused, his gaze resting on Sniper with interest.  "Tell me, where did you learn this trick?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Sniper answered sardonically.  "No offense, Engie," he added.

The Engineer nodded, eyeing the phantom.  "None taken."

A sharp rattle shook the front door, causing the three of them to look up in surprise.  "That's one hell of a night air out there," the Engineer commented, seemingly unworried.

Sniper, however, slowly stood up from the crate he had been sitting on.  He stared at the door, which began rattling more violently.

"We have to move," he said.

Spy glanced from Sniper, who was suddenly at full alertness, to the front door, which began rattling more violently.  All three of them stared as the candles at the base of the door blew out, dimming the room.  The Engineer, too, stood up in alarm as the stacks of dried herbs and flowers wither as wisps of fog began seeping in around the door and window frames.

"Now!" Sniper shouted, grabbing the box and his bag.

"This way!"  The Engineer led them to the back room, where he pushed aside several crates to reveal a heavy trapdoor.

As he climbed down the ladder, Sniper noticed the spell circle engraved on the bottom of the open door.  The details of the spell were beyond his understanding, but he knew enough of the symbols to recognize it as a warding spell -- and a quite effective one, too.  "Looks like you're not coming with us," Sniper said, looking up at Spy.

Spy studied the spell and shrugged.  "It is impressive, I'll give it that," he said before climbing down after Sniper.

At the bottom of the ladder, the Engineer groaned.  "Really, nothin'?" he said, looking up at the phantom in frustration.  Spy merely smirked as he closed and locked the trapdoor above them.

Sniper squinted at the dark.  Everything was pitch black except for the eerie blue glow of Spy's mask.  A warm glow filled the room as the Engineer lit several candles scattered around the room.

" _Tu te fous de moi,_ " Spy muttered.

Sniper looked down at the myriad of symbols, circles, and binding lines marked into the concrete floor.  If the one on the trapdoor was complicated, this one was beyond his understanding.  But he did not need to comprehend the spell in order to know what it was for.

"I think I would rather take my chances with the _miasme_ ," Spy said, eyeing the ground warily.

"Too late to turn back now," Sniper said, careful to step around the binding lines.  He was fairly sure it would take something much stronger than himself to disrupt the spell, but still...he could never be too careful.

"Cut yer crap, will ya?  Sniper ain't the one to worry about getting himself killed by any doing on my part," the Engineer said.  "'S far's he's concerned, the only thing that poses him any threat here is _you_."

Spy snorted, maintaining a look of nonchalance at the threat.  "You might think you're being clever, laborer.  But keeping something like _that_ around will only bring you more trouble than it's worth.  A leash will only stretch so far until it snaps."

"You have no idea what you're talkin' 'bout, specter," the Engineer responded severely.  "I trust that creature with my life -- that's more than what can be said for you.  You may be smart, Spy, but the truth remains that you ain't whole: there's no tellin' if you're even capable of trusting.  And if Sniper's smart, he'll know better than to trust _you_."

Sniper glanced at the phantom's stony expression.  The Engineer was right.  No matter how human his appearance or sophisticated his motives, Spy was still a supernatural creature.  Ghosts may be derived from human souls, but they were warped to the point where they lacked their former humanity.  It was what made some of them capable of killing.

But there was no point in worrying about that.  Sniper was not one for musing over the potentially nonexistent morality of a situation.  The phantom wanted something, and was willing to go as far as to save Sniper's live to get it.  As long as it needed Sniper's help, it would not lay a finger on him.  He would worry about whatever it was the phantom had in stock for him when the time came.

Setting down his bag in the corner of the room, he pulled out his rifle to polish it when he remembered its current state.  He assessed the damage: the bolt and the wood around it was completely shattered.  As far as he could tell, it was completely beyond repair.  "Fucking spook," he muttered.  This is -- was -- his favorite rifle.

"Spy got to your gun, too, huh?" the Engineer said, looking over at Sniper.

"And he's still gonna pay for it," Sniper muttered, glaring up at the phantom.

"That he will.  May I?"

Sniper carefully handed the broken rifle over to the Engineer.  "Sure.  Don't see much point in tryin' to fix it, though."

"What d'ya take me for, some half-baked mechanic who's never touched a wrench in his life?" the Engineer said in mock offense as he looked over the rifle.  "I'll bet your mechanics down under are pretty good, but you ain't never met one who can do what I do."

"You saying you can fix it?" Sniper asked.

"Fix it?  Sniper, once I've worked my figurative and literal magic on this beauty you're guaranteed to be gettin' more kills with this than you were before!"

"I can work with that," Sniper replied.  Finally, some good news.

"Seems like I've done you a favor after all, Sniper," Spy commented, smirking at the hunter.

"That don't mean you're off the hook, specter.  'S soon as I'm done with this, he'll be able to do you a whole lot more pain than he could've before."

"Speaking of pain..."  Sniper suddenly stood up as the trapdoor began to shudder.  A cold draft filled the room, blowing out several candles before fog began to seep in around the trapdoor.

"I thought your spell was strong enough to keep the _miasme_ out," Spy said.

"Well maybe next time _you_ should make the spell, since you seem to know so much about it!" Sniper snapped, grabbing the same box from earlier.

"Don't talk stupid, Sniper, ghosts can't bind spells," the Engineer said, frantically grabbing pieces of equipment from around the room and pulling out a set of pliers from his tool belt.

"Yeah, well, this one can," Sniper replied.  He pulled out a small paper envelope, poured out several small lumpy seeds, and arranged them on top of the box.  Spy watched as Sniper took out a piece of charcoal and began drawing binding lines on the lid, and then a series of runes to activate the spell:

Spy finally understood what the engraving on the lid of the box was: a base template to cast spells for the various contents of the box.

"That sure is one nifty box you got there," the Engineer said as the seeds rapidly began to germinate, growing into long, thorned stems.  "Where on earth did you get that?"

"Family trade," Sniper answered.  Buds formed on the stems, which bloomed into several large, pale roses.  "We grow loads of these back home, should keep the smog away."

He arranged the flowers in a row along the base of the ladder.  For a moment it looked like the fog had stopped its progression -- but it only continued, the roses wilting rapidly as the they fog touched the petals.

Sniper stared in disbelief.  What kind of smog was this?  "Roses ain't working, tell me you have something good!"

"I got exactly what we need."  Sniper turned around to see the Engineer brandishing a large contraption he had assembled.  Bright hot flames shot out from the weapon, burning at the fog.  Sniper stumbled back at the sheer heat of the fire, and even Spy was quickly backing away.

But as soon as the flames appeared, the temperature of the room began to rapidly drop.  The fire sputtered as the Engineer struggled to keep the flamethrower lit.  Sniper could see his breath condense in the air as the flames were reduced to nothing more than a pilot light.

This was bad.  This was very, very bad.

The fog closed in around them, and the two men began coughing as the cold air began to thicken.  Spy could only watch as they covered their faces with their sleeves, trying to breathe through the fabric.  "Well, gentlemen, any final resorts?" he asked.  He was unaffected by the fog, but he was unable to affect it, either.  There was nothing he could do.

"I got one," the Engineer said, pulling out a pocket knife from his belt.  "But you ain't gonna like it."

Sniper looked over to see the Engineer make a small cut on his finger and begin writing on the floor.  It took him a moment to realize what he was doing.

"Come on out, boy!" the Engineer shouted as the seal on the ground began to glow.  "Time to come on out and play!"

Sniper looked down and saw a simple string of runes written over the seal in blood:

"Y'all might wanna stand back," the Engineer added.

Sniper did not need to be asked twice.  He dove for the corner of the room as the spell circle burst into flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Rune translations:_  
>  1) ᛒᛚᚩᚹᚪᚦ (BLŌWAÞ "blowath") - _bloom_ , imperative conj. (Old English)  
> 2) Σας απαλλάσσω. (Sas apallásso.) - _I release you._ (Greek, probably modern)
> 
> -o-o-o-o-o-o-
> 
> Heeeeeeyy, guess who went to the gym and tried out every single weight machine and now regrets all her life choice? And also updated this fic?
> 
> This chapter was a bit delayed b/c I started doing some more in-depth research for this fic. I'm hoping to be able to provide a few visual elements to accompany this fic in the future.


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